


46.  Go back to sleep.

by KittenKin



Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/pseuds/KittenKin
Summary: "I need to tell you things, and I can’t do it while you’re awake."
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605655
Comments: 10
Kudos: 123





	46.  Go back to sleep.

The voice is familiar (Sherlock), the voice is safe (home), and the voice doesn’t sound worried or impatient or scared (no cases, no injuries). There’s nothing urging him to consciousness, so John relaxes into the pocket of warmth that’s collected under the blankets, shying away from air that’s a few degrees too cool for comfort. There’s a shift nearby; the earth moves, or tilts, or gravity decides to work a different way (Sherlock’s leaning on the bed) and John shifts a little too, as if something’s pulling him closer.

“It’s fine; everything’s fine. I just need to talk, to tell you things, and I can’t do it while you’re awake. Too much noise, too much data; I can’t think when there’s so much to see about you; your expressions and body language and the things you say and don’t say. Sleep, John, please sleep. Dream about something nice.”

John listens and wonders in a drifting, wordless way. Curiosity and worry are for parts of his mind that aren’t available just now, and he feels pleasantly heavy, so he does as the voice (Sherlock, Sherlock) bids and lets himself sink deeper into slumber. The voice is as lovely (loved) and soothing as the warmth and softness, though, so he struggles just a bit, just enough to hang on to the low murmur instead of letting it wash him away.

“I’m no good at this, I know. No one thinks I’m aware, or that I care; I know even you have your moments. Brave, loyal, honorable John. You’ll defend me against the world, but sometimes I can see you looking at me with doubt and even fear. But I’m aware of my shortcomings. I can’t be everything, John, surely you can see that?”

“If I’d made too much room for manners and thoughtfulness I wouldn’t have had room for– oh, I don’t know, shoe prints or arterial spray. If I’d thrown myself into the study of boyfriends and lovers I wouldn’t have had time to learn how to hunt and trap counterfeiters and blackmailers. You understand, don’t you? You devoted yourself to medicine. You couldn’t have gotten that degree if you’d attempted to master economics and Latin and particle physics too.”

“If I’d worked on becoming someone who’d make you a tolerable roommate, a better friend, a potential love interest, we probably wouldn’t have even ever met. Why would I have been at Bart’s trying to match riding crop strikes on a corpse? Would I have even been interesting enough to lure you to Baker Street? I certainly wouldn’t have been able to cure you of that ridiculous limp, or even understand that it was psychosomatic. We wouldn’t have _any_ of what we have now; what you needed and I was able to provide, all those years ago. And this is enough for me, at least I tell myself so, over and over and over.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing about me for anyone. I’m proud of who I am, what I can do. Even getting clean was for myself, in the end, or I never could have done it. But you make me…not ashamed. Regret? You make me wish, so much, that I was more. That _we_ could be more. I was the stranger you needed, and a unique, an intriguing, exciting flatmate. I hope I’m a better friend now, and all this is so much more than I thought I could have, but oh God John, you make me _wish!_ ”

Sherlock sobs, and John stops miming sleep. He’s come awake in little nudges and nods, incremental steps and stutters as Sherlock pours his heart out into the blanket. Boneless had turned into deliberate stillness and then a valiant effort at keeping his breaths even and his body still. But at this muffled cry of pain, John opens his eyes and arms and latches onto Sherlock with both hands, startling a new cry out of him.

“John!”

Sherlock startles and flails and attempts to get to his feet and get away, but John grips hard and _pulls_ , bringing the other man down into bed with him. He shoves and rolls and traps Sherlock every way he can think; against the wall and tangled in bedsheets and pinned under body weight, plus four sturdy limbs holding tight.

It’s…well, perhaps a bit overkill. Sherlock seems to think he’s come roaring out of a nightmare and has gone pliant, murmuring facts in an unsteady voice.

“John? It’s me, it’s Sherlock. You’re in your room, at Baker Street, in London…”

“I love you,” John grates out, all gravelly from sleep and his heart having dislodged from its usual location and getting stuck in his throat. “I love you, and you are _everything_ to me.”

Sherlock sucks in a breath, holds it, and then shudders it out.

“John it’s me. It’s…it’s Sherlock. You’re having a–”

“ _Sherlock,_ ” John tries again, caught between laughing and crying now, hiccuping into his flatmate’s shoulder. “I love you _Sherlock_ and _you_ , William Sherlock Scott Holmes, are _everything_ to me. If there is _anything_ you want from me Sherlock, you don’t have to wish for it; it’s already yours. _I’m_ yours.”

Silence.

“…John?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You’re awake?”

“Yeah.”

“…am _I_ awake?”

“Yep.”

The quietest “oh” in the history of breathy realizations ghosts past John’s left ear, and he chuckles and sniffles while Sherlock processes.

“Take your time,” he offers, moving one hand from its fistful of dressing gown to comb soothingly through dark curls instead. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”


End file.
